Non Compos Mentis
by insaniumvocult
Summary: When your life was never yours to live, and the only person who matters doesn't care; what other alternative's do you have?
1. Prologue

I do not own Death Note.

* * *

Sighing to himself L Lawliet rubbed at his wrist, the very same wrist that had just five minutes ago been attached to the love of his life, although through a six foot chain. Returning his hands to his pockets he slouched towards his computer, his brain whirring in time with the hard drive as he tried desperately to ignore the loneliness that he now felt.

He was L after all, he did not feel such frivolous things as emotions, they would only hurt him. As demonstrated by his relationship with one Light Yagami. Mentally pushing that thought out of his mind he resumed the search for Kira, although he knew deep down that he had found him. '_And fallen in love with him_,' his inner voice sang, as he scowled at the monitor.

So inwardly focused was he that he did not notice the entrance of the man with the knife. He did however notice the shadow that fell over his workspace, and the lone finger that trailed slowly down the nape of his neck, dipping underneath his loose shirt to run down between his shoulder blades.

Startled his mouth dropped in a gasp that promptly died in his throat as he caught a glimpse of black hair reflected in the screen that displayed Light's report. As the finger dragged painfully slowly down his spine Light's report was replaced by an image that had his stomach churning as he tried to keep his expressionless exterior, knowing that his visitor was watching intently for any change in his demeanor. Warm breath fanned across his cheek as two pale arms rested against his shoulders in a disturbing embrace, demanding his attention.

"Hello, L Lawliet. Long time, no see, hmm?" The man drawled as his knife traced lazy patterns against L's thrumming jugular. Unhappy with his lack of response his visitor spun him around violently in a sudden motion that had him cry out in surprise.

Hands grabbed the arms of his chair as a body loomed over him, making him shrink against the back, much to the delight of the man towering above him. He found himself staring at L, assaulted with the overpowering smell of strawberry jam as he held up a portion of black wire with a large grin. Wide black eyes locked with jeering red ones as the severity of the situation dawned on the detective.

"You know how much I _love _our little chats _L_. And I just can_ not stand _it when we get interrupted. Now this," he wiggled the scrap of wire for emphasis, "ensures that we can continue uninterrupted." He finished, eyes hungrily roaming over the detective's frail frame.

L's gaze however was focused on the man's wrist, and the sole handcuff that decorated it, a half inch of severed chain swinging slightly with every movement he made. Beyond noticed this and chuckled softly, a gravelly sound that had L's breath hitch, as he straightened and began slowly pacing in front of his captivated audience, a sinister display of authority not unlike a predator stalking his prey.

"Unfortunately," he feigned regret, "there were _complications _that somewhat hindered my getting here. Complications of a certain _detained _variety. But," he turned to smirk at his detective, "we don't have to worry about _that_ anymore. Which is rather liberating if I say so myself. You know," he whispered conspiratorially, "I think that they thought I was _crazy_."

There was an uncharacteristic silence from the murderer as he allowed his detective to imagine what he had done to remove said complications; and knowing Beyond's past he already had a good idea, one that was emphasized by the blood that was splattered haphazardly over the white scrubs that hung off the man's emaciated frame.

"Now," his linguistic fixation dragging the vowel sound across two beats, a peculiarity that ensured his was always an audience hanging on his every word, as he tasted and weighed each word to keep those that were privileged enough to listen in constant suspense, "that I have you, I have to think about what to do with you. I must say, you made this much easier than I had originally anticipated and so I am ashamed to confess that I do not have a solid plan yet. Sure I have a general idea but I was intending in drawing inspiration from watching you over a series of weeks, in order to increase the irony. As you must already know, I am quite the fanatic for irony."

His was a twisted smile as he lifted up the bloodied knife, preening in his distorted reflection, an extremely narcissistic idiosyncrasy he had developed at the orphanage. Whenever he was deep in though, usually contemplating some form of sadism, he would gaze lovingly at himself, through any available method.

Sighing dramatically Beyond raised his head to glare at the detective through his fringe, lips curving into a sinister grin as he reached into his pocket and produced a syringe filled with an ominous clear liquid, "Never mind, what is done, is done. I will just have to improvise is all. Sweet dreams, Lawliet."

Terror flooded L at the implications of Beyond's statement and he aimed a swift kick at him, knocking the needle out of his hand to roll uselessly across the floor. He then kicked him again, this time in his shocked face, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling unceremoniously across the nearby table.

His instincts screamed at him to run, and he obeyed, thin legs carrying him to the doorway, to his freedom. As he was nearing the doorway a figure appeared, forcing him to stop and back up against the wall. With a groan Beyond picked himself off the floor, and staggered to the wall, blood gushing from his wound and dripping into the floor.

Leaning his forearm above L's head he chuckled, menace bleeding into the humorless sound, making L whimper and flatten himself against the wall. The figure blocking the exit came forward, "You really should _not_ have done that" he informed, twisting a lock of hair between his fingers…


	2. Chapter One

Once again, I do not own Death Note.

* * *

He reclined on his bed watching as Misa stood naked in front of their mirror and admired herself from all angles. They had just finished another unsatisfying session of lovemaking that had Light faking orgasm while Misa squealed happily underneath him. Again. Sighing in disgust Light flipped onto his side and slid his hand into his pants, stroking his neglected member soothingly. Deciding to abandon the hopeless task of deriving at least an iota of pleasure with Misa in the vicinity, he instead brooded on L's death. Murder. Guilt began to stir inside Light before he could quash it.

Lately he had felt his resolve wavering about being God of the New World. This troubled him greatly as he should be the undisputed leader of his Utopia, and that meant no one questioned him, least of all himself. He had thought that he would have been happy with the eccentric detective out of the picture, and he had been. Until he realised, with a sinking feeling, that he had liked detective had once claimed that Light was his first friend, and only after he had died at his hand did Light realise that it was the same for him.

...

Misa served him a dinner of meat that tasted like sweetened rotting flesh. He barely suppressed the urge to vomit in his mouth as an image of L's dead body, with the sinewy strands of his malnourished complexion dangling hypnotically from the jutting skeleton; dancing a grotesque dance with the wafting stench of decomposition that he wore like the finest perfume, being led and manipulated, much like their own dance within the bonds of the mortal realm.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he brushed past Rem and out onto the balcony. Ignoring Misa's inane worryings he lit a cigarette and inhaled, watching in fascination as the smoke wafted up and around him, twirling into the heavens; where the World's Greatest Detective supposedly resided. Light knew that was not true, that L had been a caricature of himself, and that he was now burning in the pits of Hell, tormented by all those that Light had put there. Grinning to himself, Light tucked a strand of hair behind his air, releasing the smoke through his nose, relishing the slight burn in his olfactory passages.

Sighing to himself he finished the cigarette, flicking the butt onto the street below, narrowly avoiding the homeless man who looked up at him with sickening devotion. Light truly hated these idiots, he had realised this early on in life. Now that the world knew who Kira was, and that the power he had was absolute and omnipotent, they all devoted their lives to him.

He had thought that was what he had wanted, but the monotony of life without crime was beginning to rot a part of his brain that could not be soothed by mere intellectual stimulation. It was the part of his brain that had led him to courting Takeda, and once that had failed, settling for Misa; after convincing him to pick up the damned notebook.

...

Casting a filthy look at said notebook laying almost innocently on the counter, Light reentered the kitchen, apologizing for his inexcusable rudeness, and giving Misa a chaste kiss on the forehead. Behind him the television blared obnoxiously about some overhyped breakout surrounding a supposedly impenetrable prison, warning everyone to take care.

Rolling his eyes at the paranoia, and desperately needing to silence Misa's nattering about her latest photo shoot, he reached under the table, and placed his hand on her knee. A wide, lopsided smirk spread across his face, much like oil on top of water, as an attempt to hide the disgust he was feeling, letting his hand slide higher up her skirt. Reaching the hem of her panties, he dipped his fingers under and tugged, feeling some of the fabric give as Misa's words came out stuttered and disjointed, eyelids fluttering as her blush spread to her chest.

Removing his now slickened fingers with a wet pop, he winked at her and quirked an eyebrow, cocking his head in the direction of the bedroom. Nodding jerkily, Misa gasped as he slid out of his seat, picking her up and carrying her down the hall to their room. Depositing her on the bed, he undid the buttons on his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders, and crawling on the bed towards her.

Misa's eyes closed as he pressed his lips against hers, hard, fingers sliding up her sides to reach a bra that was undone with almost clinical precision. She moaned into his mouth as he fondled her breasts, thumb brushing nipple, as Light stared wistfully out the window, to the street below.

* * *

Alright. I am sure you hate reading these as much as I hate writing them. But here we are, an authors note. The reasons for this horrendously long delay are too inumerable and personal to disgress, even on the anonymous nature of the internet. Note the sarcasm. Anywho, the more hindering of these are now, hopefully, behind me, which means I will be able to continue for those select few of you that are enjoying this work. I believe this is also the time that I am supposed to reveal the songs that I listened to whilst writing this. Eat Raw Meat=Blood Drool by the Editors. The prologue was inspired by They're Coming to Take Me Away by Neuroticfish. Well, I have used up enough of your time, so 'til next we meet.


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